


and the angels caw

by romans



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, non-kingsman 'verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romans/pseuds/romans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart has been in a coma for less than two days, and his loved ones are circling like sharks. Eggsy Unwin is just trying to stay alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The hospital room, despite a multitude of whirring, clicking, and beeping machines tracking her father's every twitch, feels empty. It's been an hour since they got the call, and Roxy is the only one there. 

"Miss Hart?" She swivels on her heels when the door opens, and finds a man in a doctor's coat peering inside the room. He's a powerfully built man, bald-headed and with intense eyes, but he manages to project an air of calm sympathy in spite of his intimidating demeanour. 

"I'm a friend of your father's," he says, glancing at her father's still form on the bed. "I'll be his attending physician during his stay at the hospital, and I can assure you he will only receive the best of care." He sets his clipboard on an empty tray and holds out a large hand. His nails are blunt and neat.

"Call me Merlin, please," he says. Roxy shakes his hand, and when she drops it they both turn to look at her father. His head is almost entirely swathed in bandages. There's a tube down his throat, steadily pushing air into his lungs, and what looks like half a dozen IV lines are attached to his body. It can't be that many, she thinks. She's panicking. 

"He's doing much better than we thought he would," Merlin says, gently. "He's stable, for the now. If there isn't any swelling or infection, he may come through." 

"Okay," Roxy says, taking a deep breath. She spent two years in Iraq, dodging mortars and snatching sleep in sodden graves. She's seen people die before. This is nothing like that; _be strong _, she thinks.__

__Apparently no one else in their bloody family gives a shit. She sinks down into the padded visitor's chair, stifling a sob behind her hand._ _

__"Would you like some water?" Merlin asks, and she shakes her head. He touches her shoulder, brief and impersonal, and leaves a card on the arm of the chair._ _

__"If you need anything at all, call me at this number," he says, and then he leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him._ _

__If she needs anything- Roxy drags the chair closer to the bed. She takes her father's hand; it's cool and limp in her grasp. He was shot in the face twenty hours ago. He shouldn't be _alive_. She squeezes his hand, drops her face into his pillow, and lets herself cry for the first time since she got the call. _ _

__

__x_ _

__

__Charlie breezes in an hour later, when she's mostly managed to mop up her mascara and clean her face up._ _

__"Nice of you to make it," she snaps, and he bares his teeth at her in a sneer that she knows is mostly a nervous reflex. Everything's dulled, a little too distant to really needle her. She ignores him._ _

__"How is he?" Charlie asks, walking over to look down at the bed._ _

___Still alive_ , she thinks. Charlie wouldn't give two shits if their father died in his arms. All he cared about was the money. Still, it was nice of him to try._ _

__"He's stable," she says. "For now."_ _

__"Good," Charlie says. He drops into the visitor's seat, slinging his coat over the empty one. "Has anyone told mother? Do we know what happened?"_ _

"Mother knows," Roxy says. "She said we're free to use her flat, if we want to." _It's closer to the hospital, darling,_ her mother had said. She'd divorced their father nearly twenty years ago, and barely spoken to him since, so Roxy supposed she should have expected it. 

__"It looks like it was a mugging gone wrong," she says. The police had said something about CCTV footage; they were still looking into it. Harry Hart was a respected judge, but he never shied away from controversial cases. He had his fair share of enemies, and it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that someone had staged an attack on him._ _

__"No cops at the door," Charlie says, following her train of thought._ _

"Just a mugging," Roxy says. _Just_ a mugging, Christ. She'll call the detective tomorrow, though, and check in. 

____"I'll call," Charlie says. He digs his phone out of his pocket, stabs a number in, and wanders out of the room. She listens to his pleasant, wheedling voice filtering through the door. He always likes to feel important._ _ _ _

____The machines beep and whistle and her father lies silently in his bed. She can't even see his eyes, just the familiar jut of his chin and the line of his mouth. His throat is exposed and vulnerable, and she has to resist the urge to tug the blankets up to his chin._ _ _ _

____She takes Charlie's empty chair and settles it beside the bed again, and sits down to hold her father's hand a little longer. When Charlie comes back in, looking satisfied and a little-red eyed, he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed._ _ _ _

____"Hey, Roxy," he says, "It'll be okay. We can afford the best care you can get. He'll be okay."_ _ _ _

____"It took you two hours to get here," Roxy says._ _ _ _

____"Traffic," Charlie says. "You know how London gets."_ _ _ _

____" _Jesus_ ," Roxy says. She reaches out for her dad, and leans into the hand that Charlie settles on her shoulder. It's his constipated version of being comforting. At least he hasn't mentioned _planning for the future_ yet. She gives it three days. _ _ _ _

____When visiting hours end, she's an exhausted mess, even though she spent most of the day sitting at her father's bedside, working her way through a spate of sympathetic texts from her friends and trying not to snipe at Charlie. Merlin checks in at lunch time, speaking to her brother in the same calming tones he'd used with her earlier, and he comes in again to let them know that visiting hours are over._ _ _ _

____"I'll walk you down to the lobby," he says. Roxy trails behind her brother and the doctor, watching them talk without paying much mind to what they're saying. Merlin's card is still in her pocket, his mobile number scrawled on it in nearly-illegible handwriting. She wonders if she should give it to Charlie._ _ _ _

____When they reach the lobby, she glances over the other people there, wondering how they're coping, what life has thrown at them. There's someone's granny, half-asleep on the uncomfortable waiting couches, and a pair of young parents huddled together in a corner with a doctor. A chav is hunched over the front counter, arguing with the nurse._ _ _ _

____Merlin shakes hands with Charlie and then squeezes her shoulders briefly, shaking her out of her study of the waiting room._ _ _ _

____"I'll keep you both updated," he says._ _ _ _

____The chav looks up at them, frowning._ _ _ _

____"Thank you," Charlie says. "There should be, er, police coming along tomorrow."_ _ _ _

____"Merlin?" the chav says. "Merlin! I've been calling you all day!"_ _ _ _

____Merlin drops his hands from Roxy's shoulders and looks up at the young man. His brow wrinkles, but he doesn't seem surprised to see him._ _ _ _

____"Eggsy," Merlin says. "I'll be with you in a moment."_ _ _ _

____"Go on home," he says, turning back to Roxy. She nods, looks back at the closed doors that stand between her and her father, and lets Charlie loop an arm through hers._ _ _ _

____She glances back over her shoulder again when she heard Merlin speaking._ _ _ _

____"I know Eggsy, I _know_ \- he's fine. You know how visiting hours work," he's saying. He's pulled the young man into a half-hug, curled an arm around his back. _ _ _ _

____Charlie tugs on her arm and Roxy follows his lead, heading out into the brisk London evening and her first night of waiting._ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

Eggsy slides the door shut quietly, double-locks it behind him, and pads up the stairs. Dean's dozing on the couch, and the baby is making tiny wheezing baby-snores in her cradle. He leaves the light on as he goes. Best to leave it for Dean to turn off. 

He tries not to give Dean any overt excuses; it keeps the fuss down to a minimum. 

It isn't until he gets to his room, door shut behind him, that he allows himself to crumble. 

Harry's alive, he knows that much, and Merlin told him as much as he could, in his quiet, kind voice. The bullet had shattered Harry's left eye socket, and taken most of the eye with it, but it had missed his brain. He'd been treated quickly and was as healthy and safe as he could be. 

"He's not going to die tonight," Merlin had said. "I don't know when he's going to wake up, but he's in no immediate danger, Eggsy." 

_Tonight_ , as if that was a comfort. He had Harry for _tonight_ , at least. Couldn't see him, couldn't touch him, couldn't roll him over when he started snoring- 

Eggsy chokes down on a sob, burying his face in his duvet. 

Couldn't fucking visit him in the hospital, what kind of bullshit was that? He'd probably be allowed to go to the funeral, if Merlin took him as a plus-one. 

The stairs creak and he stifles a gasping sob, bites his lip as Dean walks past his door. He hears Daisy squall and then hush in the nursery, listens as Dean settles her down. 

There's no tap at his door tonight, no rough attempt at reconciliation or good parenting, thank God. Just the sound of Dean going into his mother's room, and whoop from one of the lads outside. 

The house goes quiet, settling into itself for the night, and Eggsy hugs his pillow and lets his grief shake though him. 

 

x

 

Sometime around two in the morning, a bottle shatters down in the street, and a car squeals away, loud against the usual background noise of London. Eggsy, staring up blankly at the ceiling of his bedroom, lets his gaze slide over the stripes of light filtering in from the streetlamps. 

Harry has connections, and police, and money, sure. 

But then Eggsy has his own resources. 

He has an idea. 

 

x

 

"Visiting hours start at two," Roxy says, staring at the clock in Charlie's dashboard. It's 1:57 in the afternoon and they're mired in London traffic. 

"He's not going anywhere, is he?" Charlie says, and Roxy's lips thin. 

"Sorry," Charlie says, tapping the wheel. "Drink your latte, we'll be there soon. I'm sure he's..." he trails off, floundering for words. "Fine" doesn't describe anything in their lives right now. 

"Yeah," Roxy says. She hasn't felt this helpless in a long time. She can't force her father to wake up, can't help him at all, not really. All she can do is sit by his bedside, and wait. 

She itches for something productive to do. Charlie's probably already discreetly requested a copy of the will, started planning his investment portfolios. 

They reach the hospital only a little after two, and Roxy walks in briskly, leaving Charlie to park the car. It's not like anything will have changed, but she feels better when he's in her sight. She had spent the whole night awake, haunted by the possibility that the phone might ring, that he might be gone- just like that- without giving her a chance to say goodbye. That he might go alone, in the night. 

But the phone hadn't rung, so he must still be clinging on. 

When she reaches Harry's room, Merlin is already there. He looks up sharply, startled, when Roxy comes into the room, and she notices that there's a man sitting on the edge of her father's bed. His fingers are laced through Harry's. The stranger drops her father's hand and stands up, face going red. 

"Hello, Roxy," Merlin says, sweeping over to her. She can see the young man over his shoulder, and Harry's hand, covered in tape and iv lines, dangling off of the bed.

"You all right?" Merlin is asking, and she nods distractedly, staring at her father's hand. She wants to put it back on the mattress. The young man meets her gaze for a moment, and then, carefully, he sets Harry's hand on top of the covers, back at his side. 

"This is Gary Unwin," Merlin says, turning back to the young man. "He's a... friend of mine. He was shadowing me today at work, he's thinking of studying medicine." 

Roxy looks Gary Unwin up and down, trying to work out where she's seen him before. Nothing comes to mind, so she holds out a hand, pastes on a smile, and says "Roxanne Hart, pleased to meet you."

"Ta," Gary says, "I'm sorry about your- your dad. I know what it's like." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. Roxy blinks at him, and then lets their hands drop. 

"Thank you," she says. 

"Roxy, I'll be back in a moment," Merlin says. He puts a hand on Gary's shoulder. 

"I hope he gets better," Gary says, letting Merlin herd him out of the room. They bump into Charlie in the hall, all three of them trying to fit in one doorway at the same time, and Charlie jerks his chin up when he sees Gary. 

"Aren't you that chav who was trying to get in here yesterday?" he asks. 

"What?" Gary says. 

"Eggsy-" Merlin says, in an undertone. 

"Yeah-" Charlie says, certain, now. Roxy looks Gary up and down, takes in his ruffled hair, his godawful buttoned collar, his shoes. He might be the lad from yesterday. It would explain why he was so familiar. 

"What exactly, Merlin, is _he_ doing here? In my father's room?" Charlie's voice is getting loud now, and Gary's jaw is jutting out a little. 

"He's with me," Merlin says, "he's following me on my rounds." 

"So you just give a total stranger access to your patients?" Charlie says. "I think I might have to request a new physician. Roxy? What do you think?" 

The policeman sitting across the hall is watching them curiously, looking to Charlie for his cue to toss Gary out on his ear. 

Gary had been kind to her. He'd seemed like he really _cared_. 

"It's fine," Roxy says. 

Charlie frowns at her. 

"It's fine, Charlie," she says. "Leave it. Merlin is a fine doctor and a- a friend of Dad's, we've met him before. He was at your birthdays, for God's sake." 

She takes a shaky breath, and says, "I'm sure he wouldn't bring in anyone who would- hurt- dad. Okay?" 

Charlie sneers at that, but he lets it drop. Gary is looking back into the room, and she follows his gaze to her father's bed. He'd been holding her father's hand when she came in, and he hadn't wanted her to see it. It was strange, but Merlin had been there, and it certainly hadn't seemed harmful. 

"Just let it go," Roxy says. "It's hard enough already, and I trust Merlin. Charlie, please." 

Charlie grimaces, but he shakes Merlin's hand, perfunctorily, waves Gary off like he's not even there, and comes into the room to sit beside her. 

"How's the old bugger doing?" he asks. 

Roxy's watching Gary and Merlin walk out towards the lobby. Gary glances back over his shoulder, once, and seems surprised to meet her gaze. When he disappears behind double doors, she turns back to the relative quiet of the sickroom, and reaches blindly for Charlie's hand. 

"Dad's the same," she says. 

"Yeah," Charlie says. He drops her hand and reaches into his pocket for his phone, and starts texting someone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: abuse at the start of the chapter.

" 'allo, Eggsy," Dean says, when Eggsy comes in the door. Eggsy frowns. 

"You have a nice morning?" Dean asks, looking up from the television. Tinny laughter drifts out from the screen. 

"I hope you 'ad a nice morning," Dean says, "because you missed your meeting with Poodle. Left him high and dry. I had to go sort the deal meself." 

" _Fuck_ ," Eggsy says. "Shit, Dean, I'm sorry. I forgot. Honestly, guv. I'm so-" 

"You're fuckin' sorry, are you? And that's supposed to make everything better?" Dean's face is getting red. He stands up from the couch, hands held wide. 

"I mean, son, it's about responsibility. About turning up for the job, you know? You need to be _punctual_ ," he says. 

The door clicks shut behind Eggsy. He leans back against it, shuts his eyes. He'd been so preoccupied with Harry that he'd forgotten all about his appointment with Poodle, and now he'd gone and fucked up, royally. 

"Dean, I'm sorry-" 

"Son, it's about _responsibility_ ," Dean says again, coming to a stop in front of Eggsy. Eggsy presses back against the door, trying to be inconspicuous. "You got bricks for brains, eh?"

He cuffs Eggsy across the side of his head, knocking him into the wall, and it could almost be something they could laugh off, a friendly jostle that was just a little too hard- but then his fingers dig into the tender flesh under Eggsy's jaw so that he can pull Eggsy around to look at him. Eggsy drags his eyes up from his feet to meet Dean's bloodshot eyes, tries to breathe around the hand on his neck. 

"Don't do that to me again," Dean says, quietly. He follows the words up with a knee to Eggsy's gut, an explosion of pain that leaves Eggsy retching and gasping on the floor, and goes back to Top Gear. 

Eggsy staggers to his feet, wincing at the ache in his gut, and jogs up the stairs. There aren't many of them, but his chest is aching, and he stops on the top landing to catch his breath. 

This is shit. This is absolute bollocks and he needs to get away. He swipes a hand over his eyes, tries to think. 

There is _somewhere_ he could go. He doesn't have the key, but getting into locked houses has never been much of a challenge for Eggsy. He'd be safe there--

He wipes his hands on his jacket, and, checking that Dean is still engrossed in the television, creeps into his mother's room. He drops to his knees by the bed, scrabbles for the laundry basket that no one ever empties or uses- and there, nestled between Dean's socks and his mother's knickers, is Dean's gun. Eggsy glances back over his shoulder, tucks the gun into his waistband, and shoves the basket back under the bed. 

Dean won't notice, if he's lucky. He's never had reason to use the gun- it's for emergencies only. 

Eggsy slips out of the bedroom and goes to his own room. He stuffs a small backpack full of clothes and tugs a second coat on over the one he's already wearing. 

He jogs down the stairs, glances over at Dean, who is completely ignoring him, and pulls the door open. Dean doesn't say anything, and then Eggsy is out the door and free, Dean's gun nestled in the small of his back.

 

x

 

Picking Harry's lock is easier than it should be, and it only takes a few nerve-wracking minutes to get the door open and slip inside. He makes a mental note to upgrade Harry's locks when he wakes up. Eggsy closes the door behind him and drops his backpack on the floor. The house is dark and still, and feels disconcertingly empty without Harry's presence. 

Something beeps. 

_Shit_.

There's a white box by the door, and the little indicator light in the corner is blinking red. It beeps again. 

Shit. 

Someone must've set the alarm by the door when Harry was hospitalized. Eggsy runs over to the wall, opens the control panel. He bites his lip. Harry had shown him the code, once- 

He hadn't come this far just to get arrested for B&E. _And_ he's got a gun. He's fucked if the alarm goes off. 

The light blinks at him and he grits his teeth, tries to remember the code. There's a three minute delay and he's used at least two of his minutes staring at the alarm. He takes a deep breath and jabs at the console. _3-4-4--_ was it seven or eight? He tries _7_. The alarm doesn't start blaring. 

One more number. The red light blinks at him. 

The _9_ button is worn almost completely off so he stabs at that. The little light in the corner flickers for a moment and then turns green.

Eggsy rests his forehead against the wall for a moment. He knows Harry's password if the alarm does go off- _Oxfords, not Brogues_ , but he'd rather not alert anyone to his presence any more than he has to. He flips the cover back down and sighs. 

He just wants Harry back. 

 

He unpacks his bag in Harry's room, folding his clothes and putting them into the drawer Harry had cleared out for him. His coats go into the closet, alongside Harry's tailored coats and jackets (if he buries his face in the soft lining of Harry's favourite coat, and breathes in deep, no one will ever know), and he slides his shoes off to pad around in his socks. 

The house is too quiet. 

He peers into Harry's study, which is lined with headlines from cases he oversaw, and goes down to the kitchen. There's still food in the fridge, which makes life easier. He pours himself a generous measure of rum from Harry's crystal decanter, and takes it into the living room. The overstuffed baroque furniture is intimidating at the best of times, even when Harry is home, sitting dishevelled and lazy on the couch, all long legs and unruly curls. He heads back upstairs, to Harry's study, and settles himself at Harry's desk. 

If he's going to find out who shot Harry, he's going to need all the information he can get. 

Eggsy logs onto Harry's laptop and starts digging. 

 

x

 

"Roxy?" Charlie says, looking down at his phone, "Did you know we have property in the Highlands?" 

"What?" Roxy says, looking up from her book. She glances at her father's bed, and then looks back to Charlie. 

"We own some old pile in the Highlands. Near Aviemore." 

"Why are you bringing this up now?" Roxy asks. "And where did you find that?" 

"It's in the-" Charlie starts to say.

"The will?" Roxy interrupts. "You're already looking into his _will_? For fuck's sake, Charlie, it's been _four days_!" 

"I was going to say it's in his property portfolio," Charlie says, mildly. 

"Which you're looking through out of love and affection, I'm sure," Roxy says. 

"Roxy," Charlie says, trying to sound reasonable, "there's a lot of property in our family, and between you and me and mum and Uncle Percy-" 

"He's not dead yet!" Roxy shouts. 

Charlie blinks at her, taken aback. 

"You're a monster," Roxy says. "He's not even dead and you're picking over his bones. He'd be really proud of you, Charlie." 

"Roxy-" Charlie says. She shakes her head and stands up to go and kiss her father on his bandaged forehead. 

"I'll be back," she snaps. "Try not to kill him while I'm gone." 

She storms out of the room blindly, not entirely sure where she's going, and collides with something warm and solid. 

When she looks up, Merlin is standing in front of her, resettling his glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

"Miss Hart?" Merlin says, catching her elbow. "Is everything all right?"

"No," Roxy says, "not really." 

Merlin nods, and tightens his grip on her elbow. "Come with me," he says. 

Roxy trails behind him as they weave down busy hallways, dodging harried-looking nurses and slow-moving patients. Eventually, Merlin comes to a stop in front of an office at the end of a long hallway.

"It's not much," he says, unlocking the door, "but it's private." 

His office is tiny and cramped, and most of the floorspace is taken up by a huge mahogany desk. The wall is filled with books and binders, and an ancient desktop sits at the end of the desk. A window takes up most of the wall to her right, flooding the office with watery light. 

Merlin shuts the door behind him, gestures to the chair behind the desk, and settles on the corner of the desk. 

"Take a seat, Miss Hart," he says. His voice is very kind. "Are you having trouble? We have counselors you can speak to if need be." 

She shakes her head, and his mouth quirks in a sad little smile. 

"Or you can use my office, if you need some space to yourself."

Roxy sighs. "It's not-" she says, and has to start again- "it's not dad. It's Charlie. It's my family. They're circling him like vultures." 

"Ah," Merlin says. He frowns. "That was fast." 

Roxy huffs a laugh around the tears that have been threatening since she left Harry's room. 

"My family's not much given to sentimentality," she says. 

"I see," Merlin says. He drums his fingers on the desk, and Roxy finds her gaze drawn to his hands again. They're broad and strong-looking.

"Roxy?" Merlin says, and the dam breaks. Roxy curls in on herself, hands pressed to her face, and lets the tears flow. 

"Hey," Merlin says, soothingly, as he slides an arm around her shoulders. Roxy lurches forward and buries her head in his shoulder.

"You're all right," he says. He gathers her up in his arms, and pulls her against his body, rocking her gently. Roxy sobs silently, mouth open against the fabric of his coat, and lets him hold her. 

After a while, when her tears have stopped and her sobs have turned into occasional hiccups, Roxy looks up from Merlin's shoulder to see that his face is also streaked with tears. 

"You're crying too," she says. 

"He's my friend, Roxy," Merlin says, smiling a little, and tugs her closer. One of his big hands is resting on her head, cupped gently at the base of her neck. She fists a hand in the fabric of his jacket, puts her head back down, and lets him hold her.


	4. Chapter 4

"Peace offering," Eggsy says, sliding two shots and a pint across the tacky table where Dobie is sitting. Dobie raises his eyebrows, but he tosses the tequila back anyways. 

"Poodle's not in, yeah?" Eggsy says, sliding into the booth across from Dobie. A quick survey of the pub hadn't turned him up, but it couldn't hurt to be careful. "Is he pissed at me?" 

"Not as pissed as Dean was," Dobie says. He takes a sip of his pint and shrugs. "Just don't fuck up again."

"Yeah," Eggsy says, examining the contents of his pint glass, "I won't. Any jobs coming up?" 

Dobie frowns at him, and then shrugs. "Nah," he says, "we're laying low. Cops are everywhere now cos of that posh bloke who got himself shot."

" _Here?_ " Eggsy says, forcing his voice to stay level. Harry had been outside of his office when he'd been shot, miles away from Eggsy's patch of London. 

"Yeah," Dobie says, "they got wind it was someone on the estate."

"Jesus," Eggsy says. He forces himself to sip his pint, swallows, tries to school his expression. 

"No one's gonna talk," Dobie says, "but, you know-" he glances around at the empty pub, leans in, "word is, it was Mr. Arnold who shot him. He was boasting about how much money he'd made just for offing one geezer, yeah?" He taps the side of his nose and winks. 

"Never heard of him," Eggsy say, affecting disinterest. 

"He moves money around for Dean," Dobie says, "likes to come down and bet on the fights. Bit of a weirdo." 

"And he _shot_ someone?" Eggsy says. "Is it going to come back on Dean?" he asks. 

"Outside job, I heard-" Dobie says. He pulls back when the door opens, nods to the men coming in.

Conversation over. At least he has a name to go on- maybe there'll be something in Harry's computer back home. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he digs it out, answers without checking the caller ID. 

"'lo?" he says.

"Eggsy?" Merlin says, and then, as if he can sense Eggsy's sudden panic, "He's fine, I'm no' calling about that. I may have found a way for you to see him. How do you fancy being a volunteer?"

 

x

 

When Eggsy reaches the hospital, Merlin is waiting for him with a lanyard and a name tag. 

"Congratulations," he says, "you're our newest Patient Champion. I had to bend a few rules, but you should be all right in Harry's ward. If anyone hassles you, send them to me." 

He introduces Eggsy to the nurse on shift, squeezes his shoulder compassionately, and leaves him outside of Harry's room. And just like that, with a badge on his shirt and a book in his hand, he has Harry all to himself. 

Harry looks small, laid out in his hospital bed, and frail. Eggsy moves a chair up to the bedside and settles down next to him. 

"You're looking your age, old man," he says. He'd read about comas, on the internet, about how sometimes people could hear what was going on around them. The stubble on Harry's face is on its way to becoming a beard, and he reaches out to carefully trace the arch of Harry's cheekbone. 

"I'm gonna find the bastard that did this to you," Eggsy says. He laces his fingers through Harry's limp ones. 

"And you're gonna wake up," he says, squeezing, "and we're gonna fix the locks on your flat. You know how easy it was to break in? Can't have that kind of security. Not if people are shooting at you." 

He lifts Harry's hand to his lips. 

"Please wake up," he says. 

Not even a twitch of acknowledgement. 

Eggsy sighs, choking back the tears that are threatening, and sets Harry's hand back on the bed. 

"Do you want me to read to you?" he asks. "That's what I'm here for, apparently."

He picks up the book he'd discarded on the bedside table. "I know you're a closet romantic, Harry," he says, flipping the cover open, "so I brought in your favorite. _Maurice_ -I'm going to muck it up completely, you know that. But you love me anyways, yeah?" 

The ventilator pushes Harry's chest up and down, and Eggsy threads his fingers back through Harry's and starts reading. 

 

x

 

By the time visiting hours start, Eggsy's ensconced himself in the room across the hall from Harry's. There's an old lady in the room, all wispy white hair and wrinkled, sunken features, and Eggsy wonders where her family is, if she has anyone to come and visit her. 

He hears the click of Roxy's heels as she comes down the hall, and settles in for a long wait. He could just go home to Harry's, call it a day, but he can't bring himself to leave the hospital. Not quite yet. 

"Gary?"

He looks up from his contemplation of Harry's book, surprised, and finds Roxy standing in the doorway. 

"I saw you when I came in, and-" she shrugs, awkwardly- "I thought you might want to sit with me and my dad."

He clutches the book to his chest and blinks at her. 

"Just you?" he asks, and she smiles. 

"Charlie's lost interest," she says. She looks tired. "And I could use some company."

"Uh," Eggsy says, "yeah, sure. I mean, thanks." 

Roxy gives him a wry little smile. "Well, you do have a badge," she says. He follows her across the hall into Harry's room, where a nurse is making a notation on the chart at the end of his bed. 

They sit quietly for a moment, and then Roxy says, "How do you know him?"

"He helped my family out when we were in trouble, a few years ago," Eggsy says. "My stepdad hit my mum and the police got called in- and your dad ended up taking our case. He helped put my stepdad away for a little while." He turns to smile at Roxy. "And then I guess he took an interest- he tried to help us out, a little. I don't recall. I was pretty young. "

"So he's a family friend?" Roxy asks, and Eggsy can't help but laugh, an exasperated huff of air. 

"Sort of," he hedges. 

"He always did want to save the whole world," Roxy says. 

They sit quietly for a few minutes. When Eggsy looks up from his contemplation of Harry, he finds Roxy watching him. 

"You can hold his hand if you'd like," she says, gently. 

"What?" Eggsy says. 

"You seem... attached to him," she says, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt. "That's three times I've seen you here, and you're really- well, you spent a lot of time getting here. Being here." 

Eggsy bites his lip. He knows what she's trying to ask him, knows exactly what she's getting at. He hadn't exactly been subtle about seeing Harry. 

"How do you know Merlin?" she asks, dropping the subject. 

"Family friend," he says. Merlin is a friend of Harry's which means he is by extension an acquaintance of Eggsy's, but that still doesn't explain why he's so close to Harry. 

Roxy just nods and settles back in her chair. She lets the silence draw out, punctuated only by the wheezing machines in the corner of the room. Eggsy knows that she's waiting for him to fill the silence. But he's never grassed anyone up in his life, and he's not intending to start now. Not even for Harry's daughter. 

Roxy has picked up _Maurice_ from the beside table, and she leafs through it idly. Eggsy watches Harry, takes in the unchanging, horrible stillness of his limbs, the awful mechanical breathing, and has to drop his head into his hands. 

"I just want him to wake up," he says. He hears Roxy set the book down, feels her regarding him again. 

"You love him?" she asks, eventually. 

Eggsy rubs furiously at his face, smearing his tears over the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his temples. 

"He's everything," he says, looking back up at Harry's bed. 

"He's all I got," Eggsy says. "He's it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd the rating goes up.

“Hey,” Roxy says, hitching her bag on her shoulder, “do you feel like getting a drink?”

Visiting hours are over, and there’s a nurse standing in the hall, politely waiting for Eggsy to leave the room. He could probably push it, use his volunteer pass as an excuse to stay on, but Roxy looks- worn down. Like maybe she needs a shoulder to lean on just as much as Eggsy does.

“Yeah,” he says, plucking his coat off of the back of his chair. He pauses at Harry’s side, touches the back of his hand, feels Harry’s pulse pumping away steadily under his skin. Then he leaves the room, nods to the nurse, who’s watching him with a sympathetic look in her eyes.

God, she probably thinks he’s Harry’s _son_.

They end up in a wood-panelled, old-world pub called _The Kingsman’s Arms_. It’s tucked in a back alley down the street from the hospital, and it’s empty but for a few regulars clustered around the ornate bar in the middle of the room. Eggsy and Roxy claim a frosted glass booth for themselves, sinking into buttery leather cushions, and down their drinks in a companionable silence.

“So,” Roxy says, as she starts in on her second whisky, “how _did_ you and Dad meet? I assume he didn’t keep in touch with you for seventeen years.”

“No!” Eggsy says, “That’d be fucked, wouldn’t it?”

Roxy shrugs, looking a little self-conscious. Eggsy sighs, wonders how much he can tell her without crossing some irrevocable boundary and making things more awkward than they already are.

“I got in trouble,” he says, “I, uh-” he scratches his ear, grimaces, “Stole a car? I mean, the owner was a tosser- anyways, I was booked, yeah? And your dad was in the station at the same time, and he recognized me.”

Harry must have had some impressive connections, because he’d managed to spring Eggsy from his cell in record time.

“And then,” Eggsy says, tipping his glass to watch the ale swirl and subside at the bottom, “your dad wanted to go for a drink, to catch up. He wanted to know about me stepdad. Wanted to know what I’d been doing with my life.”

He shrugs. “Things kind of went from there.”

That’s the polite way of putting it. He doesn’t feel like Roxy would appreciate knowing that he’d bent over in a bathroom stall, Harry panting against the nape of his neck, less than an hour after Harry had bought him a pint and crooked an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

He’s not usually that kind of boy, but something about Harry’s eyes, the intensity of his regard, had pulled Eggsy in before he’d even noticed it. Harry hadn’t pulled away when Eggsy trailed careful fingers over his hand, hadn’t brushed Eggsy off and walked out.

He’d _blushed_.

Eggsy had watched the flush creep over Harry’s face and down his throat, and felt his own smile widen in response.

“You don’t– you needn’t–” Harry had said, trying hard to be gallant. “It’s not a condition of your release, Eggsy,” he’d said, capturing Eggy’s wandering fingers in his own and pressing them gently down on Eggsy’s side of the table.

“Please don’t think you owe me anything,” Harry had said.

“I _really_ don’t,” Eggsy said, taking Harry’s hand right back. Harry’s fingernails were neat and manicured, and his palms were soft against Eggsy’s skin. The knob of his wrist was peeking out from under a snowy cuff, and Eggsy wanted nothing more than to press his mouth to it, to find out what Harry tasted like, under all the starch and grooming.

“Well,” Harry said, tightening his grasp on Eggsy’s hand. They both glanced reflexively around the pub: it was empty. The bartender was noisily loading a dishwasher somewhere in the kitchen. Harry’s gentle smile was at odds with the growing darkness of his eyes; he lifted Eggsy’s hand to his lips and grazed a sloppy kiss over Eggsy’s knuckles.

“Come on,” Eggsy breathed. His stomach was doing backflips, but he ignored it and stood up, tugging on Harry’s hand.

Harry had followed him into the men’s bathroom, and into one of the stalls. He dropped Eggsy’s hand to slide the lock home. When he turned around to face Eggsy, they were suddenly claustrophobically close, pressed together in the small space of the stall. Eggsy didn’t have much time to think about it: those elegant hands were on his shoulders, his neck, sliding up to cup his jaw and tilt his head up so that Harry could kiss him. Eggsy leaned up to meet him, let Harry lick at the seam of his lips, and opened up for Harry with a muffled, contented sigh.

Harry pulled away for a moment, but it was only to shove Eggsy up against the wall of the stall before he tugged Eggsy up for another kiss. Eggsy went gladly, revelling in the feeling of Harry’s body pressing him against the unyielding metal of the divider. A lean leg slid in between his thighs, and he rocked against Harry, slinging his arms over Harry’s broad shoulders to get more purchase. Harry pulled away from Eggsy’s mouth to rest his forehead against Eggsy’s, breathing heavily, and when he leaned in again to nip at Eggsy’s earlobe, Eggsy almost lost it right then and there.

“All right?” Harry murmured, lips moving against the shell of Eggsy’s ear. Eggsy whimpered, frustrated, and the hand that had been resting on the side of his neck moved down to tug his jeans open.

“Ffffuck–” Eggsy moaned, as Harry’s hand slipped into his pants. He thumped his head against the divider, pushing up into the warmth of Harry’s grasp.

“ _Eggsy–_ ” Harry said, and Eggsy looked down, watched Harry swipe his thumb over the leaking head of Eggsy’s cock, and that– that was _it_. Eggsy buried his face in the fabric of Harry’s jacket as he came, muffling his moans against Harry’s shoulder. He slumped against Harry, boneless and euphoric, and spent a few moments breathing in the scent of Harry’s sweat and the faint hint of his aftershave.

He tipped his head back to look at Harry, and accepted the panting, open-mouthed kiss that Harry pressed to his lips. Harry’s erection was pressing against his leg, a line of heat through the fabric of Harry’s fine trousers.

Harry hooked a finger in the waistband of Eggsy's jeans and tugged them down over Eggsy's thighs, baring the pale swathe of skin between his belly and his knees. 

"I ain't got any condoms," Eggsy said, watching as Harry smoothed his hands over Eggsy's thighs, fingers dragging through the mess he had made earlier. Harry smiled a little. 

"Trust me?" he murmured. Eggsy gave him a shaky nod, let Harry turn him to face the wall, press his legs close together. Harry's hands dropped off of his hips, and he sank forward, arms braced against the wall, and listened to the clink of Harry's belt, the gentle rasp of his trousers. He glanced back over his shoulder, curious, and couldn't help the little gasp that shuddered out of him at the sight of Harry's cock. He turned away when Harry glanced up at him, suddenly nervous. 

"I'm not going to fuck you," Harry said. When Eggsy glanced back at him, he was touching himself almost absent-mindedly, dragging his hand up and down the length of his cock while his gaze roamed over Eggsy's bared skin. His other hand came back up to Eggsy's hip, bracing him, and Eggsy pressed his forehead to the cool metal of the divider. 

"Trust me," Harry whispered, his mouth suddenly close against Eggsy's ear. The rest of his body was pressed against Eggsy's back, hot and intimate, and his cock nudged against the back of Eggsy's thighs. Eggsy twitched, and let his legs fall open, automatically, but Harry pressed them closed again. 

"Stay like this," he said. One hand slid up under Eggsy's shirt to press against his chest, and the other one closed around his bare hip. Eggsy closed his eyes and let Harry rut between his closed legs, moved with him when his thrusts became erratic, reached up to cover the hand on his chest when Harry groaned into the back of his neck and came all over Eggsy's thighs. 

They stood for a moment, locked together, and then pulled apart. 

"Good lord," Harry said, breathlessly, as he pulled himself back together. Eggsy was inclined to agree. He wiped himself clean with toilet paper, dabbing at the stains on his jeans, and then gave up and eased himself back into his ruined clothes. 

"I don't usually--" Harry pressed a hand to his mouth, and then looked down at it in surprise, as if he had forgotten that it was covered in Eggsy's jizz. Eggsy grinned, stifling a giggle. 

"I--" Harry was blushing again, and Eggsy realized that he hadn't found out how far down that blush went, after all. "I suppose I'm-- would you like to meet me another time? For dinner?" 

Eggsy goggled at him for a moment, at the unexpected earnest look on his face, and then he reached up to brush Harry's hair out of his face. 

"Dinner'd be nice," he'd said, and to his delight, Harry had grinned back, sudden and heart-stoppingly bright. 

But, no, he'll never tell Roxy any of that.

That had been eight months ago. Now he's sitting in a pub with Roxy Hart (and, yeah, sometime in the future, when everything's better and Harry's back to normal, he's going to give her so much shit-- honestly, had Harry never heard of _Chicago_?), waiting for Harry to decide whether he wants to wake up or slide off over the knife's-edge and out of Eggsy's life forever. 

It's fuckin' shit, is what it is. Harry had said something about getting him a key, a week before the shooting, and now-

Well, now Eggsy's been reduced to sneaking like a thief around the only good thing in his life. 

"Roxy," he says, "do you have a spare key to your dad's flat? He was going to give me one, but--" 

Roxy's eyebrows shoot up. 

"You want to visit?" she asks, and Eggsy shakes his head. 

Fuck it. 

"I can't go to my own place," he says, and Roxy frowns at him. Her face softens after a moment. 

"Your stepdad?" she asks. Eggsy nods. 

"Actually," Roxy says, picking up her bag, "I was planning on going over there tonight, but, er--" she digs through her bag, comes up with a bunch of keys attached to a golden medallion. 

"You look after his flat until he comes home," she says, holding them out. "I think he'd like it." 

"Thanks, Rox," Eggsy says, "you're the best." 

"Yeah," she says. She drops the keys on the table in front of him. "Just don't let Charlie find out, right? About any of it." 

"Sure," Eggsy says, with feeling. Roxy sighs, and slides out of the booth. Eggsy follows suit. 

"I suppose we'd better be going," she says. 

"I'll make sure the flat's still standing," Eggsy says, shoving down a pang of guilt over his break-in. 

When they step out onto the street, leaving the gloom of the pub behind them, Roxy surprises Eggsy by tugging him into a firm hug. 

"I'll call if anything changes," she says fiercely, holding him in a vicelike grip. She darts up to kiss him on the cheek, and then she's gone, walking down the street steady and straight-backed. 

Eggsy fingers the medallion in his pocket, and thanks God and Harry Hart for Roxy's existence.


	6. Chapter 6

Arnold's door is on the chain when he opens it. He goggles at Eggsy for a few moments, wide-eyed and sweaty, and Eggsy shrugs his hood off, says, "Dean wants a word." 

Arnold considers Eggsy for a minute, and either he recognises him or decides he's harmless because he closes the door just enough to unhook the security chain, and then lets him in. His flat is a step above the shithole that Dean lives in, done up with antique wood furniture and heavy drapes that stink of mothballs even from the hall. 

"Thanks," Eggsy says, heeling the door shut behind him. Arnold's turned his back on him, heading down the hall- he's clearly decided that Eggsy's some henchman, some kid at the bottom of the food chain. A messenger boy. Eggsy smiles, tugs his knife out of his belt. It's a cheap kitchen knife, purchased with cash at a pound shop, so it won't come back to him or Harry. 

The bastard shot Harry in cold blood and now he's let Eggsy in his front door, turned his back on him. Eggsy stares at Arnold's rounded, sloping shoulders, and wonders how he should do this. 

Arnold leads him into the kitchen, hands fluttering nervously over the tiles of the countertop, and Eggsy flips the knife in his hand and lunges. He catches Arnold off guard, shoves him up against the countertop and hooks the knife against the hollow of his throat while he twists Arnold's arm behind his back. 

"Oh God-!" Arnold says. His beard rasps against Eggsy's wrist, and Eggsy can feel the pulse hammering through his back. 

"Shut up," Eggsy says. 

"Is it- I'm not going to bring Dean into it, he's got nothing to do with the shooting," Arnold says, "Oh god, don't kill me, _please_." 

Something warm runs down Eggsy's leg and he looks down- Arnold's pissed himself. Fucking disgusting. How'd he ever get the balls to shoot Harry?

"Why the fuck'd you do it?" Eggsy asks. "Was your cut not big enough?" 

"No--" Arnold gasps, "No. I wouldn't- it was nothing to do with Dean, _I swear_."

"Then _what_?" Eggsy asks. He scrapes the knife against Arnold's jaw, wonders if he has it in him to break the fragile skin under his blade.

"I owed- I owed-" Arnold gulps, starts babbling. "Valentine- I owed him and you don't say no when- it wasn't Dean and it won't come back on him, I swear it on _my life_ , please-"

"Who the fuck is Valentine?" Eggsy asks. 

"An American tech developer," Arnold says. "He wanted this judge taken out, I didn't ask- it's _nothing to do with you,_ " he says. 

Eggsy leans on him a little harder, lets the knife dig in until it's on the verge of breaking Arnold's skin. He imagines leaving Arnold dead on the floor, blank-faced and staring in a pool of his own blood. Harry is stuck in a hospital bed, breathing through a tube because Arnold pulled a fucking trigger, and it would be the work of a second to end it right here-

But if he got himself arrested, Harry's life would go up in flames. 

And he can see the _sad_ look on Harry's face in his mind's eye. He lowers the knife and shoves Arnold away. 

"You say a fuckin' word," Eggsy growls, leaves the threat unfinished. 

Arnold is curled in the fetal position on the kitchen floor, hands over his head. 

"I won't," he says, mumbling to himself. The whole room stinks of piss. It's rank. 

Eggsy hides the knife under his hoodie and lets himself out of the flat, jamming his hands in his pockets to hide the way they're shaking.

 

x

 

He walks aimlessly after he leaves Arnold's flat, ditches the knife in a bin and then heads down into the underground. Eggsy hops onto the first train he comes across and rides the line, lets the rhythmic thunking of the tracks dull the roar in his head. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out. It's a text from Roxy.

 _Visiting today?_

He bites his lip. 

_Can't_ , he texts back. _See u tomorrow_. 

He can still feel Arnold's clammy skin under his hands, and his trainers stink of piss. The train stops and he lets the crowd of commuters hustle him off. He's not in a fugue state or nothin'- he knows where he is, he can read the signs for Bethnal Green perfectly well, can hear the echoing announcements on the tannoy- he just doesn't care what happens to him just now. 

God, Harry would have been disappointed at how _close_ Eggsy came to murdering a man. 

Nah, disappointed doesn't cover it. Harry has made Eggsy want to be a better man, has offered him a hand up out of the shit-hole of a life he's been living with Dean for the last decade or so- Harry makes him _want_ better things for himself, for his mum, for Daisy. 

And if he'd killed Arnold he'd have fucked it up and thrown his chance at a good life right out the window. 

And it would have wrecked Harry. 

He lets his feet find their own way, turning Arnold's words over and over in head. Eventually he ends up in the green expanse of Victoria Park. He sidesteps a pack of bicyclists and pads over the damp grass until he finds a tree that's far enough away from the road to offer some privacy. He finds a likely-looking branch and hauls himself up, tucks his legs under himself until he's cradled in leafy shade. 

Eggsy thumps his head back against the rough bark of the tree and sighs.

Who the fuck was Valentine?

And why had he wanted Harry dead?

 

x

 

Roxy is in the canteen, working on her third coffee of the day, when her phone rings. She picks it up without looking at it. 

"Roxy?" 

She hadn't been expecting to hear from Charlie, and the tone of his voice sets her teeth on edge, even though he's only spoken one word. He's in a spectacularly shitty mood. She braces herself. 

"Who the fuck is Gary Unwin?" Charlie asks, and Roxy's eyebrows shoot up. She hadn't thought he'd go by their father's flat. 

Eggsy should have been safe. 

"And why the fuck is he in Dad's will?" Charlie asks.


	7. Chapter 7

Roxy stares at her phone for a moment, and then she brings it back to her ear. 

"Why don't you ask Dad _when he wakes up_?" she asks, and hangs up before Charlie can reply. 

She turns her phone off and stuffs it into her bag. The oily coffee had been bad before, but now she can't bring herself to touch it. She kneads her forehead for a minute, trying to beat back the headache that's been steadily building all day. 

The coffee goes into the nearest bin, cup and all, and Roxy heads up to her father's ward. Merlin is lingering outside the main doors, clipboard in hand, and she frowns when she sees him. She knows his routine, more or less, and he's not supposed to be here now. 

"Roxy," he says, expectantly, and her heart plummets into her stomach. 

"Is he all right? What happened?" she asks, thinking of Charlie on the other end of the phone, going over their father's will, of how she'd told him just minutes ago that Dad would be _fine_ \- he had to be fine, he couldn't- 

He couldn't leave her yet. She wasn't ready. 

"It's fine-" Merlin says, reaching out for her. He touches her shoulder, his fingers warm even through her shirt, and she relaxes a little bit. 

"I'm sorry to have frightened you," Merlin says, "but you can't go into his room just now. We're taking him off of the ventilator." 

_No!_ Roxy thinks, in her first few moments of dazed incomprehension. They can't give up now, they have to ask her first- had Charlie authorized it behind her back? Surely her father should have had more time-

"He's breathing," Merlin says. "We need to monitor him, but he's breathing on his own, Roxy." 

Roxy reaches up to clasp the hand that's on her shoulder and resists the urge to collapse into Merlin's arms. 

"He's better?" she says. 

"It's a promising development," Merlin says. "He's healing. I'll let you know when you can see him- would you like to use my office while you wait?" 

"Yes, that would be- thank you," Roxy says, head still swimming with relief. The hand on her shoulder squeezes, and she follows Merlin back down the maze of hallways until they reach his cramped little office again. Roxy has dialled Eggsy before the door is even shut. 

He picks up on the second ring. 

"He's breathing," Roxy says, and for a moment there's only dead air at the end of the phone. 

"Breathing," Eggsy says, "that's good. Is he- can he-" 

"I don't know, yet," Roxy says. "But he's breathing, Eggsy." 

"So he's getting better," Eggsy says. There's a soft thump at the end of the line. 

"Yeah," Roxy says, leaning against Merlin's overcrowded desk. Her hands are shaking, a little. 

"I'll- I'll be there tomorrow," Eggsy says, "Thanks, Rox." 

"Thought you'd want to know," Roxy says. Eggsy is silent for a long moment. 

"Give him my love," he says, eventually. Roxy grins. 

"I will," she says. 

It doesn't occur to her until she disconnects that she called Eggsy before even _thinking_ about Charlie. Then again, it's entirely possible that Charlie will be disappointed. She grimaces at her phone, and then sighs and pulls up Charlie's number. 

"Charlie-" she says, when he picks up, "it's about Dad." 

" _Shit_ -" Charlie says, and what does he have to be upset about, the wanker was going over the _will_ not ten minutes ago- "is he all right?" 

"He's fine!" Roxy says, digging her nails into the top of Merlin's desk. "He's breathing on his own, now."

"Thank God," Charlie says. 

"Why were you looking at his will anyways?" she says. 

"I was just trying to be realistic," Charlie says. "And do you know who this Gary is?"

"Does it matter?" Roxy asks. 

"He gets the bloody house, of course it matters," Charlie snaps. 

"Charity case of Dad's, who knows," Roxy says, aiming for carelessness. "He's alive, Charlie, you shouldn't be looking at his will. I cannot fucking believe you." 

"I'll find out who he is. Someone has to look out for the family," Charlie says, and Roxy shakes her head. Look out for the family? More like look out for Charlie. He'd decided at the age of sixteen that it was a dog-eat-dog world and he was justified in screwing over anyone and everyone on the grounds that they would do precisely the same thing to him. 

He'd never grown out of it, and the milk of human kindness had largely passed Charlie by. Poor bastard. 

"I've got to go," Roxy says. 

"Talk to you later," Charlie says. "Let me know if anything changes?"

"Yeah," Roxy says, before she hangs up. 

There's not really anyone else to call, after that. Uncle Percy, maybe. They're a small family. Her mother doesn't need to be called unless something drastic happens. She shoves off of the desk and circles around to slide into Merlin's chair. He'll get her when she can visit her father again- and until then she has nothing to do but wait. 

Her father is breathing on his own; it's a small thing, but it's the best news she's had in almost a month. 

 

+

 

"Hello," someone says, softly, and Roxy blinks awake to find Merlin standing on the other side of the desk. She squints at him, confused, and then remembers where she is. 

"Hi," she says, sitting upright, "sorry. I must have dozed off." 

"It's good for you," he says, kindly. "Gives the mind a rest. You've been through a lot this month." 

"Dad's okay?" she asks. 

"He's fine," Merlin says. "Stable," he adds. 

"Thank God," Roxy says. Her neck is sore from sleeping awkwardly, and she tilts her head from side to side, trying to work out the kinks.

"You look like you could use a real bed," Merlin says, "I can tell you from experience that's a rubbish chair to sleep in." 

Roxy laughs a little as she pushes up from the chair. 

"Thanks for loaning it to me," she says, picking up her purse. "I suppose I'd better be going." 

"Go home," Merlin says. "Go sleep. You can come back tomorrow. He'll be fine." 

He's still standing by the door when Roxy edges around the desk to leave, and she comes to a stop in front of him. They're only inches apart, breathing in the same air, and she knows she should make space between them but-

"I wanted to thank you again," Roxy says, breathing in the faint tang of disinfectant and sweat from his clothes, "for all your help. You've been wonderful." 

Merlin should move, too, but he stays where he is. His eyes, she notices, are very dark. 

"I wouldn't do anything else," he says. His gaze has drifted down to her lips. 

"I know," Roxy breathes, and this is so wrong- it's an awful idea- she drops her bag, reaches for his shoulders and pulls him down for a kiss. 

He meets her halfway, wrapping his arms around her waist to tug her in flush against his body. This is a monumentally bad idea, she thinks faintly. Merlin's hands slide down her sides and close around her hips. 

"Are you sure-" he says, and she laughs a little hysterically and pulls him down for a lingering, open-mouthed kiss. He picks her up, hands firm on her hips, and sets her on the desk. Papers crinkle under her thighs and Merlin mutters irritably, pulls her back up again to move them. Roxy helps by wrapping her legs around his waist, letting her skirt slide up towards her hips. 

" _God Jesus_ ," Merlin says, and he steals another kiss before he pulls away from her, trailing a hand over her thigh as he goes to lock his office door. Roxy works the zipper on her dress down, letting her dress slip off of her shoulders, and when he turns back to her, he swears again, something low and unintelligible and breathless. 

"Condoms?" Roxy asks. 

"Top drawer," he says, staring. 

"Undo my bra," she says, turning around to lean over his desk and open the top drawer. She jumps a little when he touches the bare skin of her back, and has to stop for a moment and rest her head on his desk when he leans over to press a kiss below the sensitive skin of her earlobe. He unhooks her bra and smoothes his hands over her back. 

"Condom?" Merlin says, and Roxy swallows, fighting down the rush of arousal at his voice. The condom is under his pencil case, and she wonders how many people he's fucked in this office. Or maybe he's just safety-oriented. He _is_ a doctor, after all. 

"Right," Roxy says, and she shimmies out of her bra as she sits up. 

"God almighty," Merlin says. 

This is a horrible idea, Roxy thinks, watching him shrug out of his coat, helping him unbutton his shirt. 

She's entitled to a few mistakes. 

She pulls him in for another kiss. Surely she's allowed _this_.


	8. Chapter 8

Eggsy spends a sleepless night in Harry's bed, staring at the tiny pockmarks in the ceiling with his legs twisted up in Harry's fine cotton sheets. The room is smelling more and more like Eggsy now, Harry's scent fading away into nothing. 

Harry's getting better, Eggsy reminds himself. He's breathing on his own, and he'll be home before they know it. 

Eggsy turns over, punches the pillow down, and flops facedown onto the bed. The clock is too loud. The stairs are creaking and the radiators are ticking. They do it every night, always have, but tonight each sound is like an electric a shock to his raw nerves. 

What if Arnold went to the police? Would he be stupid enough to do that? Surely not. What if he somehow knew where Eggsy was staying?

What if he _knew_ -

The stairs creak and Eggsy jumps again, curls into a ball under the covers before kicking them off. 

Maybe he should have killed Arnold. 

He needs a cat, he thinks, something to explain away all the little noises in the dark house. If- _when_ Harry is back, he'll bring it up. 

He smiles in the darkness. Harry is breathing on his own. That's fucking fantastic. 

When he looks at the clock, it's four in the morning. Almost early enough to get up, he supposes. He gropes for Harry's plush bathrobe, wraps himself up, and pads in socked feet down the hall to Harry's office. 

The anemic light of Harry's laptop makes his trophies- front pages from the Sun on days he'd closed his cases- float in the darkness, hanging surreally over Eggsy's head. He rubs his eyes and boots up the laptop. Harry's work computer and home computer had been taken by the police, but his personal laptop had been in Eggsy's room on the day he was shot. Eggsy could hand it over to the pollice, but then they would have questions. 

Who are you? What's your relation to Judge Hart? How did you come to have his laptop on the day he was shot? What's your connection to Arnold? Ever shot anyone? 

Maybe Roxy could "find" it and pass it along to them. 

"Valentine" brings up a bunch of hearts and flowers shite, and a few IMBD links, and Eggsy's heart sinks. Finding Valentine, whoever the fuck he is, isn't going to be as easy as he'd thought. He scrolls despondently through his search results, skimming over florists and tourism guides- and then, at the bottom of the search page, he finds a name. 

_Richmond Valentine_. 

When he clicks through, he finds a sleek corporate website. The bio on Valentine doesn't offer much of use- Valentine is an inventor-entrepreneur-philanthropist who made it big when he was a kid and has been building a tech empire ever since. 

Bloke was a bleeding-heart liberal environmentalist, if his website was to be believed. Free internet in developing countries, free cell phones for the disenfranchised. Love and happiness for everyone. 

Eggsy punched Richmond Valentine's name into google and came up with a list of articles about his charitable work, his tech launches, his eccentric fashion choices- 

And then, at the end of a long article on corruption in Parliament, is a throwaway mention of Valentine Industries bankrolling a back-bench conservative MP, Arthur King. The article doesn't _say_ that Valentine might be trying to cut corners or influence the government- not even an insinuation- but if there was something improper going on, and it was small enough not to make headlines-

Or maybe Arthur King held just enough sway to keep it out of the papers...

If Valentine had tried to buy his way into the UK market, and it had gone quietly to the courts, and Harry had been ready to hand down a ruling that affected Valentine's business plans- 

Eggsy sits back in his chair, stares at the beaming photos of Minister King and Richmond Valentine. 

They'd hired Arnold to kill Harry. He'd been in their way and they had decided that they wanted him gone. Just like that. 

It's only six in the morning, so he turns off the computer, double checks that Dean's gun is still hidden in Harry's secret desk drawer, and goes downstairs for breakfast. 

Visiting hours don't start until one, and even Eggsy's volunteer pass won't get him into the hospital until ten. He eats breakfast, washes his dishes, and puts them away, and then goes on a cleaning spree. Harry's actually a god-awful slob, left to his own devices, but Eggsy thinks he'd like to come home to a clean flat. So he tidies and wipes down and polishes, keeping his mind busy, until the flat gleams like a show home. 

He strips off his cleaning gloves and tosses them under the sink, and then he avails himself of Harry's ridiculous shower and washes himself, too, until he's scrubbed pink and shiny. 

Harry's not coming home for a long time, he knows that, but he still wants to be- he wants to be _ready_. 

Harry's _breathing_. Eggsy grins at his reflection in the mirror, ruddy-cheeked and clean-shaven, and reaches for his phone. 

 

*

 

Roxy is dozing when her phone rings, jolting her awake. She knows, logically, that it's not the hospital- they would have called Merlin first- but her hands are still shaking when she digs through her bag. 

It's Eggsy. 

"Hey, Eggsy," she says, rolling over in bed. Beside her, Merlin relaxes and curls into his pillow, apparently going back to sleep. 

"You coming by the hospital?" he asks. "We need to talk." 

"Yeah," she says, "but I'm not sure when I'll be in. I'm supposed to meet up with the police today. Some sort of interview." 

"Right," Eggsy says. "Don't mention me just yet, yeah, Rox?"

"You're not involved," she says, curling into Merlin's back. "Don't worry. You have nothing to do with Dad being shot. I won't say anything." 

"Thanks," Eggsy says. "But really- we need to talk. Come over tonight?" 

"Yeah," she says.

"He's better?" Eggsy says, and she smiles a little. 

"I think so," she says.

"Right," Eggsy says. "I'll see you later, then."

He hangs up without saying goodbye. Roxy drops her phone on Merlin's bedside table and glances at the clock. She has another thirty minutes before she has to get up and face the world, so she curls up behind Merlin, slipping her hands around his waist. He'd invited her home with him the night before, while they were pulling themselves back together in his office, and she'd accepted his offer. It was nice to not be _alone _.__

__She'd stay in bed all day, if she could, but Merlin has to start his rounds in the afternoon and she has a meeting scheduled with Detective Inspector James Lancelot in two hours._ _

__Her father is breathing on his own._ _

__Maybe there's a light at the end of the tunnel after all._ _


	9. Author's note

Hi! I haven't abandoned my fics but I am taking a brief hiatus because I just started a crazy new job/schedule.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas.

Detective Inspector James Lancelot is a tall, tweedy man with kind eyes and a brisk handshake. He's shadowed by Sergeant Percival, an even taller, bespectacled man, who ushers Roxy into an interview room with a nod and a smile. The room looks like something out of a TV show: grey walls, a simple table, three chairs, a tape recorder. There's a notepad and some files laid out on the table. 

"Thank you for agreeing to come in, Miss Hart," Lancelot says. He takes a seat across the table from her. Percival stands by the wall, arms crossed loosely across his chest. 

"I've heard your father is improving," Lancelot says, smiling at her. "Hopefully we can close this case and catch the bugger by the time he's out of hospital." 

"Thank you," Roxy says. "Anything promising?" she asks. They probably can't tell her, or won't, but she can't help asking.

"Actually," Lancelot says, shuffling through the notepad, "that's why we asked you to come in. We spoke to your mother earlier, asked her if she could think of anyone who would have motive to attack your father, and we've looked into almost all of her leads. We were wondering, though- she doesn't have the closest relationship with him any more- perhaps you can think of someone new in his life? Someone who might stand to benefit from his death?" 

Roxy bites her lip. _Only his petty-criminal boytoy, who stands to inherit half his fortune on his death_ , she thinks. _No one else._

"Not really," she says. "I don't know many of his friends." 

Lancelot nods, like he expected to hear that. 

"Thank you anyhow," he says. He tugs a folder out from under his notebook. 

"We've hit a bit of a wall in our investigation, actually," he says. "There's at least a dozen people who lost a great deal of money in your father's cases, and we've interviewed most of them. But there was something we came across when we were looking into your father's work history- does he ever talk to you about his time in the forces?"

"No," Roxy says, furrowing her brow. 

He'd never mentioned any time in the military, ever. 

"You're certain?" Lancelot says. He flips the folder open, and pushes a glossy photo across the table. There's a group of men standing around a jeep, dressed in dark fatigues. Most of them are carrying machine guns. They look ragged, and dangerous. They could be anywhere: the landscape behind them is a flat blur, stretching into an uncertain horizon. 

Lancelot taps the photo. "He was involved in some pretty heavy ops," he says. "We can't get a peep out of anyone official about it. Won't even acknowledge his service."

Her father is off to one side, leaning against the front of the jeep. He's young, round-faced and gangling, his hair covered by a black beanie. He's cradling an Enfield K85 IW in his gloved hands. He looks tired. 

"He's never said anything about military service," Roxy says, staring at the photo. 

Lancelot hums, and turns to look at Percival like she's answered one of his questions. 

Why hadn't her father mentioned it? It had never come up, not even when Roxy was starting her own stint in the forces. 

"Your father divorced your mother when you were ten, am I right?" Lancelot says. 

Roxy nods. 

"Do you know why they divorced?" he asks. 

"Irreconcilable differences," Roxy says. Her father's sexuality hadn't, in the end, worked out with her mother. She's known for years, been vaguely aware of partners now and again, but by and large her father's love life has been carefully hidden from public view. 

"Forgive me for asking," Lancelot says, gently, "but can you remember any... violence? Any abuse? Anything like that?" 

"No," Roxy says, decisively, "Nothing like that." 

"If there was any carry-over from his service into his home life," Lancelot says, "it would... it might give us an idea of where to look next. We're trying to establish if his service impacted his life in England."

Percival speaks up, breaking in on Lancelot. 

"We think whoever shot him might have been involved in whatever he was up to in the eighties. Whatever he was doing back then, no one wants to admit it happened. And he did pretty well out of it- worked his way up the ranks until he was a judge. If it was buried deep enough that the government won't acknowledge it happened, perhaps this is blowback. Maybe his past catching up with him." 

"We're trying to establish if he has any old friends from those days," Lancelot says, "anyone who might be in touch now. Perhaps someone's holding a grudge. Perhaps something from his past caught up with him."

Roxy shrugs, staring at the photo.

"Do you recognise anyone else in that photograph?" Lancelot says. 

"No," Roxy says, skimming over the photo again. 

"I'm sorry," Roxy says, "but I don't recognise any of these men. And my father has never been a violent man." She shakes her head, tries to reconcile the young soldier in the photo with her gentle father. 

Lancelot looks disappointed, but he lets it drop. 

"He didn't mention anything else to you? We're still looking at some of his recent cases, just in case someone has a grudge against him. Did he have a particularly nasty case, recently? Any threats?" 

"No," Roxy says, "To be perfectly honest, I hadn't seen him for months. The last time we spent any time together was at Christmas." 

Lancelot grimaces. "Well, if you do think of anything," he says. 

"I'll call you," Roxy says.

She looks down at the photo one last time: Merlin is perched on the hood of the jeep, hand braced against her father's shoulder, smiling for the camera.


End file.
